Don't Cry For Me Ohio
by Thparkaly
Summary: The Story Of Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel-Anderson. A memoir, written by Kurt Hummel-Anderson, about him and his best friend and co-worker, Rachel Berry. Hummelberry!friendship fic.
1. Overture

**_Disclaimer: Don't own anything, yadda, yadda, yadda._**  
**_Warnings: Rated T for some language and innuendo._**  
**_Authors Note: Please review because that makes me happy :)_**

* * *

**Don't Cry For Me Ohio**

**The Story Of Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**By Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**Chapter 1**

**Overture**

I never really liked Rachel Berry that much. She was more than just an annoying, obsessive, theatre nerd. She was a complete bitch. Trust me, I'm not just saying that to be mean, I'm saying that because it's true. In the 4 years we spent together at McKinley High School, she had somehow managed to make every straight guy fall in love with her, broke half of their hearts, stole solos from everyone in Glee Club, and even destroyed my favorite Marc Jacobs sweater. Rachel was practically the cause of my friend Quinn's near-fatal car accident, broke my stepbrother's heart more times than anyone can count, and tried to seduce our teacher Mr. Schue. Still, through an unimaginable amount of drama and insanity, she became one of my best friends, the mother to my husband Blaine and I's daughter, and my business partner. I am Kurt Hummel, and welcome to my memoirs; Don't Cry For Me Ohio: The Story Of Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel-Anderson. Enter with caution and a high fashion sense.


	2. Bye Bye Sweater

**_Disclaimer: Don't own anything, yadda, yadda, yadda._**  
**_Warnings: _****_Rated T for some language and innuendo._**  
**_Authors Note: Please review because that makes me happy :)_**

* * *

**Don't Cry For Me Ohio**

**The Story Of Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**By Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**Chapter 2**

**Bye Bye Sweater**

Let's start where these sort of things often do; the beginning. Normally, I'd put a Sound of Music reference there, but there are a few of you who just wouldn't understand it. If you are one of those people, I respectfully ask you to close this book immediately, return it to your neighbor, lie about how much you adored the book and are going out to buy your own copy, leave, and never return. For this book will be littered with musical references anywhere possible. Let's try this paragraph again.

Let's start where these sort of things often do; the beginning. A very good place to start. When you read you begin with ABC, when you sing you begin with Do, Re, Mi. Alright, enough with the Rodgers and Hammerstein. For me, the beginning starts in my freshman year of high school. I had joined the school musical, Bye Bye Birdie, hoping to play Albert Peterson, the male lead. When the cast list was posted, all I got was Reporter #2, a non-speaking role, and some very weird looks and remarks from the director, Sandy Ryerson. If there's anything you should know about that man, it's that he is the very definition of a pedophile. If my memory serves me correctly, he was arrested years ago for selling marijuana to minors.

Anyway, my dreams of being a lead in the musical had been crushed, and I was devastated. Over the next 4 years I would learn to stay grounded in reality, but now wasn't the case. I stayed in my bedroom for a week, crying and listening to the Wicked Original Broadway Cast Recording. When I finally left my room, I decided that I should be involved with the show as much as I possibly could. The next day I found myself signing up for set painting, an after school activity that would claim me another spot in the program.

I showed up Tuesday, wearing my new blue Marc Jacobs sweater, and this fabulous pair of white jeans. In retrospect, this was not the best idea I'd ever had. I walked through the big red and white doors, into the gymnasium, expecting there to be a large group of kids all painting beautiful pieces of scenery. What I found instead, as I glanced around the room, was a few socially awkward kids trying to figure out what to do, and Mr. Ryerson, talking to Hank Saunders, who would be playing Conrad Birdie.

Suddenly, a girl with a hideous fashion sense, magically appeared in front of me. I use the term 'magically appeared' because I neither saw her walk up to me, nor had I ever seen her before in my entire life. Before I had a chance to even introduce myself, or run and hide, she began to babble mindlessly.

"Hi! My name is Rachel Barbra Berry, I'm a freshman, and I will be playing Helen in the musical. You must be Kurt Hummel, Reporter #2. I've heard all about you. Well, not really, but I've seen your name on the cast list and I know you're in my grade, so technically I know who you are."

She spoke somewhat musically, perfectly in rhythm, with a hint of melody. I learned quickly that this singsongy voice would never shut up. Completely ignoring the rest of her mindless rant, I looked her over, restraining myself from attacking her kitten sweater. As she ran to grab me a bucket of paint, I casually worked my way over to Mr. Ryerson.

"Um, Mr. Ryerson?" I questioned timidly, tapping him on his pink-clad shoulder.

I'm going to pause here and warn you all that what is coming up may be a bit disturbing for some.

As if I were in some sort of cheesy 80s movie, Mr. Ryerson spun around at the same time that Rachel Berry herself had come by with the paint. Smacking her in the face with his elbow, Rachel fell backwards, throwing the paint right onto my beautiful Marc Jacobs sweater. For a moment, everything stood still. Rachel was on the floor, with her hand clutching her forehead, Mr. Ryerson was still piecing together what had just happened in his head, and Hank was a few feet away, doubled over in laughter.

I didn't know whether I was filled with rage, or so embarrassed that I was shaking, but either way I ended up running out of the room, bawling my eyes out. In the hallway, a young teacher with a curly mess of hair stopped me.

"Woah, what's going on? Why are you crying?" He said, glancing over my shoulder to see if he could find any tormentors.

"Nothing," I said, "I just got some paint on my sweater. If you'll excuse me, I have to call the fashion police."

I walked away, holding back another wave of tears, and pulling out my phone. I dialed my dad's number and told him to come pick me up. I explained to him what had happened, and he said he'd be at my school in 20 minutes. I took a seat on one of the crappy benches out in the front of the school. I sat down next to a kid who was in my French class, named Brett. He looked at me for a moment, and then scooted over to the other side of the bench. I was sort of glad he moved, because he smelled slightly homeless. I sat opposite that kid for 15 more minutes before my dad pulled up, and I hopped into his truck.

That night, I quit the musical, and swore to never take part in school musicals again. From now on, anything involving pedophile teacher or badly dressed diva, was off-limits for me. For the sake of my sanity, and my sweaters, I kept that promise. Well, I almost kept that promise.


	3. Mama Rose

**_Disclaimer: Don't own anything, yadda, yadda, yadda._**  
**_Warnings: _****_Rated T for some language and innuendo._**   
**_Authors Note: Please review because that makes me happy :)_**

* * *

**Don't Cry For Me Ohio**

**The Story Of Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**By Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**Chapter 2**

**Mama Rose**

Freshman year had almost ended, and I had learned a thing or two about the social classes at McKinley High School. First of all, bullying was standard practice. Secondly, the theatre kids were at the bottom of the food chain. Luckily, I had decided against participating in the Glee Club. If you were in the musical AND Glee, that was it for you. Any minuscule chance you had at avoiding torment was stolen away from you, in the cruel, hypnotic form, of show tunes.

After I quit the musical, I found myself working at my Dad's car shop more often. With no friends to hang out with except Mercedes (who I'll talk about later), I had a lot more free time than I had anticipated. After a little while, I realized that I would look back at my freshman year and realize that I had done nothing, and had no hilarious memories. So I decided to make some new friends.

I tried to make friends in any way I could. I would sit at a different lunch table everyday, I would talk to people in hallways, and I even started talking during class. My grades suffered slightly, but I didn't care. I was so desperate for friends that I never told anyone about my personal life, fearful that they would abandon me if they knew who I really was.

I was eight years old when my mom died. She was beautiful, right up until her death. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was six. My Dad was in denial and wouldn't tell me why my mom was sick, so she pulled me into her room one night to explain it to me.

"Kurt, honey?" She said, distracting me from my Wizard of Oz Barbies, "We need to talk about something."

My seven year old self must've had a gut feeling as to what this was about, because I slowly climbed into the bed my mother was laying down in. She looked at me with tears in her eyes, and pulled me into her arms as she began to sob. I began crying too, because no child can bear to see their mom cry. After a few minutes she reached over for some tissues, and wiped away my tears. She explained what was happening to her, and why she only had a little time left. She reached into her dresser drawer, and pulled out a small gold locket.

"This is for you Kurt. See, it opens up, and inside there's a picture of you and me."

I reached out to examine the locket, running my fingers over the smooth metal, before slowly opening it. My mother had placed a picture of her and I from my 5th birthday party, where she was hugging me and I was laughing. I looked up to her, and back down at the locket.

"Just like in Annie." I whispered, still clutching the necklace.

"Yes Kurt, just like in Annie." She laughed, tears still streaming down her face. I had never seen my mother cry before. She was the strongest person I had ever met and I still don't quite understand how she managed to hold everything inside. When they lowered my mother's casket into the ground, it felt like my life was over. My mother wouldn't have wanted that though, so the next day I went right back to school, and acted as if nothing had ever happened. The locket was hidden away in a drawer, and became dirty and broken over time. When I joined glee club though, I suddenly had an urge to bring it to a jeweler, who cleaned and fixed it, and I have worn it every day since.


	4. Merrily We Roll Along

**_Disclaimer: Don't own anything, yadda, yadda, yadda._**

**_Warnings: Rated T for some language and innuendo._**

**_Authors Note: Please review because that makes me happy :) and all of the text messages are in bold._**

* * *

**Don't Cry For Me Ohio**

**The Story Of Rachel Berry and Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**By Kurt Hummel-Anderson**

**Chapter 3**

**Merrily We Roll Along**

I have decided to skip over the rest of my high school years, because you all know what happened. If you don't, then you can buy Rachel's book, "How To Succeed in Show-Business Without Really Dying". And yes, that is a shameless plug. The only thing you need to know right now is that I have a boyfriend (Blaine), Rachel is single (sorry Finn), and living with me in New York, my dad is happy and healthy, Sam and I have become close friends, and Mercedes, Tina, Britt, Santana and I, are closer than ever.

Did I mention that Rachel and I were both attending the New York Academy of the Dramatic Arts? Auditions were stressful, but after three long months of waiting, we finally got our acceptance letters. Well, I got my acceptance letter. Rachel bombed her audition and stalked the head of school, but somehow she creeped her way into the school. I was really upset about it for a while, because I worked my ass of to get this, and all she had to do was follow someone around New York. I quickly got over it though, because HOLY GUCCI I GOT INTO NYADA.

It was most likely one of the greatest days of my life. I got into NYADA, Blaine found out that he got a 32 on his ACT, and Sam had gotten word that his family was moving back into their old house. I decided to host a nice little party that night, to celebrate everyone's achievements. Sam was the first one to show up, and he immediately pulled me into a bear hug. He's quite a bit bigger than me, so I couldn't even say hello because of the bicep in my face. After he released me from his death grip, he bounded into the kitchen to grab some cups. Blaine came next, his arms full of food and beer. I laughed, and gave him a quick kiss, before taking hold of the illegal drinks. Even though Blaine's a junior, he's always got Cooper to buy him whatever he needs.

Slowly, everyone else from the Glee club filed in. Santana and Brittany brought more alcohol, claiming that there's nothing else we need to be sober for. Tina, Mike, Artie, and Finn brought some chips and a few movies. This was probably the only time that the entire Glee club would be together without a ton of unnecessary drama. We drank, watched movies, played truth or dare; the usual. I was perfectly okay with it, because Blaine ended up shirtless. Let's just say that Blaine spent the night... and the night after that. I moved to New York with Rachel shortly after, paying the rent with the money I earned working as a fashion consultant at a bridal shop over the summer.

My first day of classes was definitely the worst. I arrived early to my first class, Vocal Arts. It was a makeshift choir, comprised mostly of freshman. It was like an advanced music class, but was easier than some of NYADA's more intense choirs. I sat down in one of the seats that were strategically placed around the piano. I pulled out my phone, reading over my unread texts from today.

**"I love you baby! Have a great first day of school. Remember, courage. Xoxo."**

**"Kurt, I don't know how this whole Instagram thing works. Rachel keeps posting pictures of her with this guy...? Oh yeah dude, good luck today."**

**"I might need to swing by your place today. I think Rachel took my Chapstick again."**

I figured that I should text some of them back at one point, but it was almost time for the class to begin. We were all asked to prepare a piece that showcased our range, both vocally and emotionally. I, naturally, chose Being Alive. Who doesn't love Sondheim? As the room filled up, I nervously shifted in my seat, glancing at the other students in my class. I spotted some kids who I had seen around the campus, but no one I really knew. Suddenly, a voice boomed from the doorway.

"Okay losers, in your seats. Ah, Mr. Hummel, I see you'll be gracing us with your presence today."

I turned around quickly, and I found myself face-to-face with someone I thought had disappeared forever.

"My name is Mr. Ryerson. Sandy Ryerson, for those who feel more comfortable with that."


End file.
